


Offering and Acceptance

by fragrantwoods



Category: Deadwood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrantwoods/pseuds/fragrantwoods





	Offering and Acceptance

_  
**Offering and Acceptance**   
_   


  
**Offering and Acceptance**   


  
  
**Part1**

He heard the heels of her boots tap-tapping on the boardwalk several seconds before she came in the door. _That’s a pissed-off walk_ , Dan thought.

“Afternoon, Miz Ellsworth.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Dority. Is Mr. Swearengen in?”

“Uh, I’ll go see.” He came around the bar and went upstairs. She looked in some kind of state but nothing jumped out as a reason why.  
Alma accepted a cup of tea from Jewel as she waited, foot tapping.

  
“For how long?” Dan looked uncertain, needing information but not wanting to presume.

“I don’t know for how long, Dan. Just don’t disturb me unless we’re burning down again.”

“”Me” meaning you and the widow.”

“Yeah, Dan. Me and the widow. Will hearing that the door may be locked make you throw your skirts over your head and flee in fright?”

“Locked.” Dan looked at Al, making sure he heard right.

  
“Is there a problem?”

  


  
“Well, she’s been sweet as she can be…I mean, for her…but you did, y’know…take care of her first husband. Or had him taken care of, so to speak.”

  


  
“An incident of which facts, though never actually proven, I believe she is quite aware. Includin’ your part in the business. She go around slanderin’ your name, glaring at you or the like?”

  


  
He thought for a minute. For that type woman, she’d been nothing but nice, didn’t seem to be holding no grudge. Did have an edge to her, but Al knew more about women than him, he figured. He hoped _that_ was holdin’, anyway, Al’s ability to head off trouble.

  


  
He shrugged. “Okay, boss.”

  


  
Dan walked to the stairs paused, and then came back.

“You do remember you got a houseful of whores that’d do anything you wanted, without you having to lock the goddamn door.”

  


  
“I remember. And you got a suspicious turn of mind."

  


  
“Humph.” Dan huffed as he went down to escort Alma upstairs. 

  


  
She still seemed as tight as a fiddle string. He hoped to hell Al knew what he was doing.  
 

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


Al took a few minutes to order the room and his person. The pitcher of water near his washbasin was full and fresh. Light muslin curtains let the afternoon sun filter in without glare; no need to light the lamps yet. Pillows were arranged to his particular satisfaction over the rich red and saffron bedding that would have befitted a high-end San Francisco brothel.

  


  
He looked at the small assortment of pomades and cologne on his dresser, picked up on his trip to Rapid City. Most were scents and oils he had used for years, restocking for his barber’s and his own use. His hand moved past those to an unfamiliar bottle that looked out of place with its silver-topped stopper.  
 _  
Something new,_ he thought. _New for new beginnings_. He poured a few drops of Trumper’s Wellington scent onto his comb, raking it through his hair. A mild scent of lemons and orange filled the air, with a warm cedar accord behind it, mixing with the smell of sun-heated skin. Just out in London last year, the clerk had said. A gentleman’s fragrance. 

  


  
He was fairly sure it would take more than a bottle of scent to raise him to that status, but it reminded him of parlors, fine wood furniture polished with lemon oil, and lazy sweat drying on clean skin. Those were pleasant enough memories. He recalled an image of himself back then, looking past the craggy lines to the fresh-faced Albert of twenty-five, clean-shaven and rakish appearance. 

  


  
He reached for the bottle again, remembering grooming rituals of days past. For old times’ sake, he dabbed just a drop on his skin under his clothes, at the juncture of leg and body. If anyone noticed, he figured, they’d already be in a position to have their mind on other things besides why he would scent himself at a whore’s pulse points.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
 

  
  
  
  


  
**Part 2**   


  


  
The scent of brewing coffee and the morning’s bacon lingered up here on the second floor, mixed with the odor of spilled liquor that had begun seeping into the new floors. Alma ran her hand over the new, slick bannister as she walked upstairs. There was already the beginning of a sticky patina of smoke combined with oils from the hands of clients and women. The floor looked raw and clean yet, no varnish put down in the haste to get the Gem reopened.

  


  
Greetings over and Dan back downstairs, Al sat behind his desk, noting the trimmings on her hat were trembling. He could see why Dan had concerns. He motioned for her to start.

  


  
“I’d like an honest answer to something.” Her fingers were digging into her purse.

  


  
His sense of caution increased. “Okay.”

  


  
“Is it true that you lost your finger because you were trying to protect me from Hearst in some kind of way? That you taunted him about me until he chopped off your finger?”

  


  
He nodded once. “You’ve heard the current talk.”

  


  
“Please answer my question.”

  


  
“Alma, I was going to come to _some_ kind of violence to serve as an example long before that night. I _knew_ that. Hopin’ I could avoid it, sure, but unsurprised that I couldn’t. And the matter had to do with the whole of the camp and Hearst’s disproportionate need to control everything here, includin’ your gold mine. Which is different from it being about _you_.”

  


  
“But you _did_ taunt him rather than agree to help him take advantage of my interests.” 

  


  
“Well, I would not have had that conversation bandied about the camp, but yes. A last jab before suffering the inevitable. An unwise habit of mine, at times.”

  


  
She started pacing, heels clicking, pausing at the window, at the door to his room. Her chest was tight, reminding her of constricting corsets and panic.

  


  
“So, shall we count up the times you’ve acted to protect me, and suffered for it?”

  


  
“Well, I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you. There _are_ those who suffered more than me. Most of the time, I’m sure I had other interests at play besides your wellbeing.”

  


  
“Look, you want a fuckin’ drink?” He opened his drawer, set bottle and glasses between them, and started to pour.

  


  
“I just feel that there’s a…a terrible imbalance between us. And I’ve been so beholden to so many men in my life…and—“Her voice began rising.

  


  
“Here. Drink this and calm the fuck down, hm?”

  


  
She downed her shot quicker than he had expected.

“And there’s something that seems to happen between us at times that I find…disturbing.”

  


  
She lowered her eyes at this. Her eyelids were thin and bruised-looking. He wondered if her thoughts were keeping her from sleeping, or if it just reflected the stress of recent events. He suppressed the smirk that threatened to show on his lips. “Disturbing“ was not how he would have described their push-and-pull flirtation, but he could tell she had woven darker threads through their time together than had he.

  


  
He raised his eyebrows before getting up and walking to her side of the desk. 

  


  
“Anything else?”

  


  
She would never say this to anyone else. But this man… _apparently there’s nothing that he can’t handle hearing._ She caught a faint scent of oranges and wood, somehow wholesome and out of place. Her next breath brought her the smell of musk and skin, grounding her to the realities of the room. 

  


  
“And the last man I…was with…I find I cannot bear to think of him as the last man to ever be…within me.” Her mouth twisted. Any pleasant memories had been destroyed by the pain and instruments that had violated her as a result. _And the baby that had been within her for a few short weeks_. It all roiled together inside of her, needing to be placated.

  


  
“I would never touch him again, but I would also like to have something… _someone_ else to think of. If I were to…leave this life without marrying again, I can _not_ have that man as my last memory.” She swallowed hard and thought about how she must sound. Her ears felt on fire.

  


  
“Does that sound mad?”

  


  
“Not really.” He studied her pale face, a few freckles standing out against her skin. He could tell she was still new enough to this kind of distress that she barely had the language to ask for help. 

  


  
“You want to fuck him out of your mind…get his taste out of your mouth, so to speak.”

  


  
She nodded thoughtfully. “I believe that’s it.”

  


  
_Jesus wept,_ he thought. _The ramification of their short-lived affair was never goin’ to stop. Like a fuckin’ force of nature._  


  


  
_  
_“You know there’s not a man in camp that would turn you down, you want a quick roll in the hay to assuage your memory. Younger men, with less…rough histories.

  


  
She shook her head. “You, I trust to treat me no differently afterwards. I don’t know that about other men. I suspect things would be more a good deal more complicated.”

She stood up and braced her hands on the chair between them. The air between them felt heavy and still.

  


  
“Recently, you told me that no matter what the circumstances, if I offered you a “free fuck”, as you put it, you’d take it and worry about repercussions later. “

  


  
Her color was high, her gaze steady.

  


  
“I’m offering.”

  


  
He was already feeling the effects of her offer. Along with that, he felt an uncomfortable feeling of uncertainly as to what to do next. In his imaginings, he hadn’t included so much conversation surrounding their coupling. By his nature, more words meant more examination of angles and motives, free offerings meriting the closest examination of all. He watched a slow pink flush travel up Alma’s skin from neckline to jaw as he considered.

  


  
He made his decision. He realized he had made it when she said she trusted him. Few enough had said that without him deliberately working a long con. A thought, sharp and slightly disappointing, ran through his mind: _she trusted him to not develop softer feelings than he had already shown. Or to not be able to develop such feelings._ Underneath the lush atmosphere that was in the air, he felt a flash of chill. She had so very little idea of who he was, and less idea of who he was not. 

  


  
She stood there, waiting, taking measured breaths, hands still tight on the back of the chair.

“Well,” he said, unconsciously rubbing his missing finger, “I suppose you’d like me to lock the door?”

  


  
“Please.” Her pulse quickened as she realized his acquiescence.

  


   
She watched him take the heavy key to the door and put it in the lock with a rattle. Before turning it, he came towards her. She figured this would be the start of the kissing and caresses, and closed her eyes, tilting her face up slightly, remembering past dances of first sensual touches.

  


  
She heard an amused sniff and felt cold fingers running down inside her bodice, under her corset and between her breasts. Her eyes flew open.

  


  
“Wait, what are you--?”

  


  
“Calm down, Alma, nothing’s startin’ yet. But I never lock myself in a room with someone without checkin’ for weapons first.” _As good a time as any,_ he thought, _to draw the lines between his and Bullock’s ways._  


  


  
Her mouth opened, then shut as he efficiently ran his fingers around her waistband and down her lower back. He had knelt and felt inside her boots and up her legs, over her stockings, before she could speak again. 

  


  
“You don’t trust me?”

  


  
He smiled. “I’m working on it.”

  


  
He turned the key.  
 

  
  


  
 


End file.
